“There are fresh tracks down here, Sir,” a soldier called.
“They’re mine,” Erika insisted. “I chust went down there for a char of chelly.”
Lt. Muldoon sneered. “I’ll just bet you did.”
“No! Don’t go in there! She’s taking a bath!” Erika cried when the officer turned the knob on Dayme’s bedroom door, but he paid no heed.
Dayme screamed like a panther as she grabbed her knees and threw a wet bar of soap at the lieutenant, splattering his uniform. “What do you want of me?” she cried. “I’ve bared my home, my ranch and now my body! What else, Muldoon? Must I stand and be searched?”
The embarrassed officer offered a feeble apology while backing out the door. “Forgive me…I thought….” He closed the door quickly behind him. “Sound retreat, Corporal. Old Quicksand’s gone again.”
Chapter 28
The bitter cold of that wind-whipped February night was no match for the biting icy accusation in Martin Lewis’ dark eyes. He barely nodded when Benjamin and his Virginia confrere rode into the big red barn where the horses were hidden. The door was shut quickly behind them.
Martin’s coolness came as no real surprise. He ignored Benjamin’s extended hand and hung a feed bucket on a nail. When he finally spoke, his Mississippi drawl was sarcastic. “Figured you’d have quit the order by now…a Washington big shot like you. Got everything else. What you after now? Power?”
“Maybe.” Benjamin removed his black leather gloves and warmed himself by the potbellied stove while he studied the man. A groom led his horse away to unsaddle, feed and water it. A wry grin curled at one corner of his mouth. “You’ve been in politics. Money gives a man leverage.”
“I’ve seen Larkspur,” Martin replied tersely. “Restored completely, brand new statuettes, stables stocked with racehorses and registered cattle. Uniformed servants, new carriage, manicured grounds. How could you, Ben? Made us feel like fools…pretending to be a pauper like the rest of us. Where’d the money come from? Where did the money come from? My father gave all our money to the Confederacy. I thought Mrs. Farrington did, too.”
Benjamin stiffened and bristled. “Leave my dead mother out of this. The money is mine. I didn’t steal it. I have no intention of apologizing for good fortune.” He was irritated that his old friend was irritated at him. His voice turned sarcastic. “One must expect criticism from less fortunate fellows when one prospers.” A sting was in his tone as he pulled a fat wallet from an inside coat pocket. “How much do you need, Martin?”
Martin Lewis flinched. His face flushed. “I don’t want your charity.”
The inconspicuous arrival of clansmen took all of four days, three nights and was well into the fourth night. Each pair of riders had an appointed time of arrival at the country estate on the outskirts of a large southern city. Delegates from all over Dixie and some from northern states began drifting into the city for the secret rendezvous more than a month earlier on one pretext or another. The scheduled secret conference was of the highest order.
It was easy for Benjamin. He purchased property in the area, including a downriver mill. It was easy for Martin Lewis, as well. A poor man, he lined up daily in the work lines, only to be turned away. The clansmen had orders to leave the city at an appointed time in pairs, careful not to arouse militia suspicion. Two by two, the men rode out in all four directions, making certain they were not followed. Then the riders circled back and headed toward their destination at the secluded estate.
Sixteen clansmen guards were posted throughout the heavily wooded grounds. A certain birdcall meant trouble. The guard nearest the mansion would sound the alarm inside. The guards’ orders were to silence impostors who didn’t use the secret password in general conversation upon opening the unlocked wrought iron gate. Although the guards were out of sight, the riders were aware of their presence and the penalty for failure to use the password.
Farther down the lane, other guards high in the trees scanned the road with field glasses for the militia. Their danger signal was a dove call whistle blown through the thumbs of both fists.
“Looks like you could use a friend in high places, Martin,” Benjamin tempted. The Negroes undercut and get the jobs. I can help you, old friend. I can use your political expertise in my bid for Congress. Be my campaign manager. I’ll pay you well.”
“Don’t patronize me!” Martin Lewis’ family had enjoyed the same splendor as Benjamin’s before the conflict. “Keep your damn money.” He lifted his head proudly. “I’m not for sale, Benjamin. I never licked a Farrington boot or a Farrington caboose, and I don’t intend to start now. I don’t know which side you’re on anymore. Forget it.”
Benjamin laughed. “Does it matter…in your financial straight? Fifty dollars a day plus expenses through the 1872 election, a thousand dollars up front. How does that sound?” He waited for the answer that did not come. “If it makes any difference, I’m still a Democrat. Think about it, Martin…caviar and champagne again, fancy parties, pretty clothes for Clara Lee and little…uh, little….”
“Lori.”
“I’ll throw in a brand new carriage and a team of registered Morgan horses.”
“I told you,” Martin stormed. “I’m not for sale!” He opened his saddlebag and jerked out a white robe and hood, detesting the confidence in Benjamin’s voice.
“Really? I’m trying to help you for old time’s sake. Take it or leave it. Pull yourself up by my bootstraps and ride free on my coattail or go to hell!”
Martin glared at the man and strode toward the house. “I think I’d rather,” he muttered.
Inside the mansion, the windows of the great room were heavily draped. Flickering flames of two candles set on a mahogany table in the center of the room made grotesque shadows on the wall when the door opened and shut. Tension ran high among the men assembled when the high officials began arriving. The top brass entered the conclave hooded, their identities could only be guessed. Most were high- ranking officers of the Confederacy who had distinguished themselves in battle.
All the knights were protestant, white men, dedicated to the survival and supremacy of the white race, the purity of white womanhood, and sworn to uphold the Bill of Rights as guaranteed by the U. S. Constitution. They were determined to win back the right to own slaves as they championed the cause of Southern industrialists. The fanatical Ku Klux Klan fought their imagined “holy war”, wreaking havoc against freedmen trying to exercise their legislated rights. They attacked low-class white women who fraternized with coloreds and the militia. A steamboat cargo of muskets and ammunition bound for the Arkansas militia was dumped in the Mississippi River when the ship docked to take on fuel at night. A Florida military train arrived in Jacksonville mysteriously empty (even though the locked cars were under heavy guard). The occupation army didn’t know whom they could trust. Some northerners and members of the militia sympathized with the Klan. However, the army was finally making headway in quashing the cult uprising. The government sent in reinforcements. By 1871, it was becoming more and more perilous for the Klan members to assemble.
Upon the arrival of the Imperial Wizard, the hooded clansmen stood in homage. After certain secret rites, rituals, chants and pledges of allegiance, the high officer called for reports from state committees and it was several hours before they finally got down to the serious business at hand…electing hand-picked nominees to run in the upcoming general election.
The Imperial Wizard pounded the table with a gavel. “My brothers,” he cried. “The time has come to go further underground. We must appear to have disbanded. We will become the invisible empire! We will infiltrate both political parties and place our chosen candidates names in nomination to the highest offices in the land. We’ll change our tactics. Our actions will be less violent. We’ll court the Negro vote.” Soft chuckles rippled through the audience at the facetious way the Wizard shaped the word.
“We need men of influence,” he went on. “Men of Christian moral character.
Men to further our efforts from the governing level and turn this thing around through legislation. Men who believe in our cause and whose votes will restore power to the states.”
There were more impassioned speeches by various speakers before the roll call of the states for nominees. Members had pledged to back the nominees at their respective state political conventions. It was almost dawn before the speaker called out, “Virginia, Democratic nominees.”
The Virginian who traveled with Benjamin called out, “Your Imperial Highness, the great state of Virginia nominates an adopted son, a former Mississippian, a man dedicated to the aristocracy and preservation of the white race. A fine attorney, he is already serving on the attorney general’s staff as advisor on southern affairs. A wise man, he recognized the futility of bloodshed long ago, soon after the war, in solving the Negro problem. He chose to use his wits to keep his own servants subdued and working his plantation. Of the coloreds who remained on his plantation after the war, only one left for greener pastures, and that nigger was a fool!”
Again, muffled snickers passed through the audience. “Virginia nominates a man with his foot already in the door, a man of honor with financial clout, and he knows how to use it… Benjamin Atwood Farrington!”
There were no loud cheers in the semi-dark room, only a few quiet “Amens” and waving of hands to indicate approval because of the cloak of silence invoked on this particular drastic convention.
Benjamin removed his hood and strode to the podium in long strides. He made the usual promises and repeated the necessity of undermining the opposition by beating them at their own game. “It’s imperative,” he cried, “to gain the Negro confidence by pointing out frailties in government policy. Point out the black man’s poverty under carpetbag rule. When necessary, we will bribe them with hard cash and buy their votes.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” a drawling voice called out. “It’s hard enough to buy bread in Mississippi, let alone votes.” Benjamin recognized the voice as Martin Lewis.
“What did you do, Mr. Farrington,” another man asked, “to hold your remaining workers?”
“Not much,” Benjamin replied. “All I did was….”
“I think it only fair,” Martin Lewis interrupted angrily, “that the people of the great state of Virginia know more about their candidate. Virginia Klansmen should be aware that Farrington pensions off his servants. He basks in wealth that his mother hid away somewhere while most of us gave all to the Confederacy. They say he’s an advisor on southern affairs. I say he’s a traitor!”
Benjamin listened attentively while Martin Lewis raved. “I’m glad you brought that up,” he replied suavely. “I was about to mention it myself. I’ll ask my campaign manager to get right on it since all the points are in my favor. As his Imperial Highness pointed out, it’s time to change our tactics. I changed mine at the beginning of this mess but not without purpose to our cause.
“Yes,” he conceded. “I pensioned off three elderly, worthless old servants as an example to healthy young workers. It was an incentive for them to stay on, work hard and farm my land. I countered the government’s land offer with an offer of my own. Not only a permanent job so they can feed their families, but ten acres of their own land to do with as they please…a pittance, really. I gave away a total of forty acres to four strong, healthy servants with large families. I made them sharecroppers and hired field hands to help with the workload. It looks good…making them ‘landowners’. I named an old colored overseer, established a colored school on the plantation to circumvent time off from work and having to haul them to town.” Benjamin grinned. “I buy the books so they learn what I want them to learn. Their share of the cotton is ‘after’ expenses. Expenses just keep going up….” The audience appeared to approve of his methods, making him feel even more confident. “There’s not a whole lot left after expenses, certainly not enough to leave on. I’ve made every original slave except those I retired, of course, a boss man of sorts. Actually it costs me less to farm my land now than when we Farringtons paid the bills. I have a bunch of contented coloreds on Larkspur Plantation engaging in free enterprise.”
“I don’t think much of offering them retirement,” a man in the audience said. “They multiply like rabbits. It could break a man.”
“One of my older servants died before collecting a dime,” Benjamin told them smugly. “The next retiree at Larkspur won’t be seventy years old for another thirty-five years. Anything can happen in that length of time. Their money barely buys basic food and a very few clothes. I may discontinue the policy later but don’t you see? It buys time now. It gives them hope.”
His countenance became grave. “I’m honored, gentlemen. I stand for the cause of freedom of choice and the segregation and supremacy of the white race. Furthermore, I’ll personally donate half a million dollars to be used for the purpose of buying Negro votes.”
When the nominations ceased, the Imperial Wizard’s gavel struck the table once again. “We’ll burn our hoods and robes before we leave this meeting. We’ll meet in small assemblies. Call it whatever you like…a study club, a Christian men’s club, perhaps a young men’s cooking club. We’ll be out there in numbers. Our people will infiltrate and blend into both party headquarters. Our people will be in Washington. We’ll be the waiters, the janitors, the doctors and the lawyers. Let the army search for us. We’ll be invisible to the naked eye!” With an air of grandeur, the Imperial Wizard walked over to the fireplace and removed his hood and robe and threw them on the fire. One could have heard a pin drop when his identity was revealed. Next came the Grand Dragons, the Cyclopes and the Giants. All the knights tossed their costumes on the flames. All papers were burned, leaving no evidence of the conclave.
Suddenly, the door burst open. An excited guard yelled, “Militia! About two miles from here and riding fast!”
There was a mad scramble for the door. Ordinarily meetings ended with a hymn. Not so this time. The exposed Imperial Wizard hastily mumbled, “May the Lord watch between me and thee while we are absent one from the other. This meeting is adjourned! Every man for himself!” he cried frantically.
There was pandemonium in the big red barn as rearing and nickering horses were hastily saddled. “The keys to my Natchez mill,” Benjamin yelled to Martin over the chaos. “It’s yours if you come with me…now…this minute. The money, too.”
There was no smile on Martin’s defeated face as he nodded in agreement. “I’ll do it,” he yelled over the noise. “I have a family to feed. You make it impossible to refuse.” His horse bolted out of the barn behind Benjamin’s sprinting black stallion as riders scattered and scampered through the trees.
Benjamin turned back in the saddle and smiled, urging Martin to follow. Every man has a price, he thought as he chuckled to himself. Figured it would take a lot more to buy Martin Lewis. The two men disappeared into the forest toward the bright morning sun.
Chapter 29
The loneliness was unquenchable. It flared from one chamber of Dayme’s troubled heart to another, refusing to be extinguished. Her subconscious took control as she sat alone on the old oak stump beside the windmill, shelling yellow corn and aimlessly tossing it to the chickens. Aware only of the conflicting pain that trespassed her mind, she was oblivious to the beauty of springtime and the activity going on around her…the brown fiddle-back spider spinning silver, gleaming, glistening threads in a crevice of the wooden tower stand, the shiny black crow thief perched tersely on a nearby mesquite limb, plotting strategy to steal a kernel of grain. She wasn’t aware of the grunting, squealing black and white Poland China hogs sidling and shoving for space at the feed trough as ‘Ten Penny’ Nail dumped sour mash mixed with table scraps. The piglets scampered in apparent glee, unaware of their mission in life. The parent sows sensed another year’s reprieve now that hog-killing time was over. The refugees from the butcher’s axe were contented, slurping the putrid slop that drooled from their jowls. Dayme didn’t even notice the fo
ul odor of rotted slop and hog dung in the thick, slushy wallow that wafted in her direction.
Deafened by concerns of the heart, she was unmindful of the cheery melody of Erika’s old country Alsatian song as she gathered stiffly starched, fresh-smelling laundry from the clothesline. She paid no attention to the children’s grunts, groans, shouts and laughter as they rolled and rollicked at playful wrestling.
For a time, Daniel Lee had the better of his opponent, but Alexander wrenched loose and pulled Daniel Lee down on his back into the dirt. The blonde youngster sat victoriously astride his brother’s chest with both knees pinning him down. “Say Uncle!” he yelled.
“I won’t!” Daniel Lee countered, his face grimacing in determination as he struggled to break free to no avail. It was apparent that he’d lost the battle, but the stubborn youngster refused to admit it. “Uh, I gotta go to the toilet, Zander…now! Let me up.”
As the custom was on Sunday afternoons, the wranglers were engaged in a roping contest in the arena. Ace Hopkin’s dun horse thundered a dust trail in the soft dirt, his lariat looped around the running calf’s neck. Holding a rawhide strip between his teeth, the foreman slithered off the gelding and threw the bawling calf to the ground. His horse backed up to tighten the rope. Whirling a ‘dally welty’ (as the wranglers called it) around three of its feet, he wrapped them securely twice and threw up both hands, signaling finish.
“Twelve seconds flat!” Jake Kuhl shouted from the chute fence. He snapped the gold watch shut and stuffed it in his watch pocket. He spit out a well-worn cud of chewing tobacco, bit off another chunk and wallowed it around in his mouth, then climbed down into the chute to mount his sorrel mare. “That wasn’t too bad, Ace,” he drawled. “Bet five dollars I can beat your time. Turn him loose, Pete!”
Child of the River Page 29
